


The Sun

by xWillemijnx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Second Generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xWillemijnx/pseuds/xWillemijnx
Summary: Dominique didn't like the sun, but sometimes?Short story, Teddy and Dominique.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Dominique Weasley
Kudos: 4





	The Sun

Dominique didn’t like the sun. Never had, to be honest. She didn’t like the way her face would get freckly and flushed, or how her skin would start to feel sticky if she spend too much time underneath it.

No, she preferred the shadows. The rainy and windy days that made her hair whip in her face and made her clothes pull her in different directions. She preferred nights, most of all.

Merlin, she could spend hours sitting in the alcove of her bedroom, her eyes glued on the stars outside as her fingers trailed the strings of her guitar. It was during those hours that she started to sing to them, soft words about the beauty of raindrops splashing in lakes or puddles or about the fire she saw burning in the sea when the wind was particularly strong.

Her family didn’t understand her, never did, actually. Of course, they never bothered her with it because she was Dominique and Dominique was a little odd sometimes. Was it strange that she didn’t think she was odd? She felt that it was reasonable that she found solitude in the quiet of her room until _she_ decided to fill it with melodies. She felt that it should be understandable that the shade protected her from the biting sun where everyone was always _so loud_ that she couldn’t be heard anymore.

She went up to her mother one day when she was six, her guitar in hand and the other twirling a strand of her icy blonde hair between it’s fingers as she blinked up at her. She had asked if her mother would like to listen to her music, listen to the melody of the sea, how she had began to call her favourite song.

But Fleur had been busy, running through the house after their other daughter and worrying about her dance recitals or acting classes.

Louis listened to her, sneaking out of his room late at night to crawl next to her and whisper for her to sing him a song. And she’d sing to him as well as the stars, smiling softly and looking at the window.

When she was nine years old, she stopped.

Staring at her guitar in it’s box and swallowing back the tears she had closed it, turning her back on the music and sitting down in the Purple tea room with her grandmother. She had been allowed to say goodbye to Victoire and Louis, as their other grandmother had come to steal them away, but she was never allowed to visit them.

Louis stopped climbing in her bed for her songs that day, thick tears rolling down his cheeks as he asked why she didn’t come with him and Victoire back to England and she had wanted to tell him the truth. That she _did_ want to come but that she wasn’t allowed. But she had shaken her head and pulled him in a tight hug, whispering that this was for the best.

Whenever she went into the sun after that, she had felt the world close in on her, the sounds of birds whistling and the rustle of leaves in the wind too much for her to take so she returned to her solitude.

Sitting in the alcove of her bedroom with a book on etiquettes but her eyes kept returning to the stars outside, it felt like they were begging to hear her songs and she cried. Every night she cried to the stars about things that felt silly the next morning.

Sometimes she’d go to the Blue Room. A room with a golden harp and a piano, her fingers would trail over the tiles and wood, but never did she bring herself to actually hear the melodies they could give her. Her heart constricting in pain as she rushed back to her room, grabbed her book of etiquette and begged herself to forget.

She was eleven years old when two letters showed up on her doorstep, inviting her to two schools and she could choose. She knew instantly, she wanted to go to the school her father had gone to, whom had always listened to her music and taught her to play the piano.

Maybe she didn’t remember the tall man with red hair in a ponytail and a fang through his ear, maybe all she had of him were melodies in her head and photos together up to her fourth birthday. But she knew that he would’ve understood her, wouldn’t have thought her to be odd like everyone else did just because she liked the darkness more than the light.

It took her weeks to convince her grandmother to let her go, promises of making the family name proud on her shoulders when she stepped out on the platform on the 1st of September. She hadn’t been sure what to suspect, the crowd around her had made it hard for her to breathe though, so she had quickly locked herself in a compartment. Eyes swooping over the people outside and she saw family. She saw the red hair and freckled faces and pulled the curtains closed, because it hurt. It hurt that she hadn’t been allowed to be apart of them.

She was sorted into Slytherin.

She was _odd_. She knew. Because a Weasley shouldn’t be in Slytherin and maybe that’s why her last name was Delacour.

The room her father had written about in a letter she received when she turned eleven was a room she found within a day of arriving at the castle. High stone walls with tall windows and gravel pavement even though it was inside. And most importantly of all. A piano.

The piano was gorgeous, smooth polished black wood and clean white tiles.

She couldn’t play. But she sat in that room every day. Sitting in the dark and staring at the dust dancing in the rays of sun falling through the windows. She wrote poems and told about her life. About how she made her grandmother proud because she was a strong woman, she was respected and her house did everything she asked. She also wrote about how she still cried herself to sleep, how the tears tasted of salt and she wondered if the sea still looked like fire when it was storming.

Fourteen. Something changed. She met someone, someone she already knew. Someone she remembered only distantly from before she moved to France, her eyes followed him silently. His bright blue hair always sticking every which way and his eyes always swirled through different colours all the time and he was _so_ popular.

And yet his eyes kept slipping to hers as well, a small smile playing at his lips that made her smile back. Her heart pounding in her ears when she turned away, returning her focus on what her so called friends were discussing.

Teddy Lupin was beautiful, she decided when they were sitting in the library. The sun was kind to him, she saw, as the rays of sun danced on his skin and made his eyes shimmer. And maybe that made the sun a little less bad.

She was fifteen, sitting in her alcove reading her most recent letter of Teddy. He told her everything, silly things about what Lily had done this time or what happened at the last birthday party and she had cried again. Because she had been deprived of it, a law that she held no control over and had made her the heir of a name she no longer wanted. But her grandmother had given her so much and she owed it to her.

Returning to school this time was easier, Teddy talked to her almost every day and it made life better, made her feel a little less odd. She followed him into the sun and he followed her to the shadow’s, listening to her explain she liked the quiet and he had understood.

It was on her sixteenth birthday that she sat down behind the polished piano. Her heart was fluttering and her fingers shaking but she pressed them down on the keys, the melodies returning to her as easy as they had when she was a toddler.

Softly, she started to sing again, eyes on the starry night she could see through the high windows and she felt like the stars were happy. Lighting up at hearing her sing to them once more after all those years and it was strange really, how she had never felt like she had been unable to breathe and yet now, she felt relieved at being able to again.

Seventeen. An age she had always looked forward to but the year had been dipped in a cool bucket of water at the death of her grandmother. She was officially Lady Delacour, Head of the House and tasked with the impossible task of ruling the clan and getting an heir to continue the title.

Nineteen, on her birthday, she entered Teddy Lupin’s apartment. She still thought he was beautiful and the sun was still kind to him as he grinned at her with his lopsided smile. He had asked her on a date that day. Their first date. Dominique had never thought he would ever ask her and had just nodded, staring at him.

Their first date, where they went to McDonalds because Dominique had never been allowed and had always wondered, their first date, where they sat on a sidewalk to study the people passing them until the sun had gone under and Dominique started to shine. Their first date, where Dominique sang in front of an audience for the first time, only three or four pedestrians, but with Teddy strumming a guitar and Dominique leaning against him.

Their first date, where she got her first kiss.

She was twenty one years old when she became famous. Her voice known around the globe and her melody of the sea listened to on radios and apps that she would never understand. She liked standing on the stage when the sun had gone down, liked the dark wrapping around her and then the lights lit up the world around her like tiny stars as she sang.

Four years later, Teddy had brought her to the sidewalk she had first sung on, it was raining and he bend on his knee with a nervous smile on his face. The ring was silver with a blue teardrop in the middle. She had said yes and the sun had broken through the rain, shining down on Teddy and lighting the sky in colours.

Dominique didn’t like the sun. But sometimes? Sometimes it wasn’t so bad.


End file.
